Weequay: Recollections
by Yex
Summary: Yala Sard, human/zelosian convert to the religion of the moon god Quay, and her Weequay companion and mentor, have been through a lot, together and separately. This piece weaves through their memories.


**Chapter 1 – A Prayer for Mourning**

_4 Years Before the Battle of Yavin_

Leaving a cloud of dust in its wake as its repulsorlift sped above the sand which sizzled in the sun, the speeder wooshed towards the city of Mos Eisley. At the wheel, the Weequay displayed an air of calm indicative of his mastery over the craft, while his companion fidgeted in her seat and shielded her eyes from the twin suns.

"I remember how bright this place is", she said to her companion. "The light always makes me feel alert, but _echuta_ is it hot".

The Weequay remained silent as the girl wiped her brow. In the space between their words a heaviness clung to the air, a bitter moisture that stood in stark contrast to their arid surroundings. Casting off the feeling that weighed upon her chest, and ignoring the graveness conveyed by her companion's pheromones in a voiceless language that was beginning to feel familiar, she spoke again.

"I think things went well with the report to Jabba", she said. "I think he trusts us with the Nal Hutta work".

Her companion agreed silently, as he pulled the speeder through Mos Eisley's streets, arriving finally at the speeder rental depot. The pair hopped out of the vehicle, and started towards a twi'lek in a pinstripe suit, the owner of the rental company, who was presently distracted by his attempts to upsell a more expensive model to a family of rodians. Hesitating, the girl turned to her companion, and said, "You go ahead, I'll stay behind". His unflinching eyes met hers, and again the heaviness returned to her chest, but as the moment passed, he again nodded and returned to his task of returning the speeder.

Standing at the edge of the parking lot, the girl gazed across the street at a vender selling hubba gourds. A spark of recognition flashed over her face, and her pulse quickened. Her eyes, pigmented with an almost unnaturally vegetative green hue, glimmered in the midday sun before she cast them downward, looking away from the produce gathered in baskets beside the Jawa merchant. Her hands trembled as she reached into her pocket and procured a cigarette. She lit it, took a few hits, and then her hesitation broke, and she crossed the street. Passing a few credits to the Jawa, she bought a particularly fresh gourd, and placed the melon in the brown bantha-leather bag that hung to her side.

As she returned from her errand, her Weequay companion and the twi'lek approached. Subtly, a small glass vial passed from the Weequay's hand to that of the car dealer.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Krun Sha'ee", said the twi'lek, placing the spice in his pocket. "Not everyone can afford speeders of your taste, but, ah, you certainly pay well". Glancing to the girl as she took a drag of her cigarette and scrutinized him with her verdant eyes, he added with a chuckle, "Your partner is a little young to be smoking, don't you think? A little young to work for the Hutts in general".

Indeed, the girl appeared no older than a decade and a half. Yet the twi'lek's comment was laced in irony, for the cigarette seemed far less conspicuous on the teen than the twin blasters that hung from sling holders that crossed over her otherwise innocuously plain white t-shirt. She flicked her cigarette into the street, and pushing a lock of hair from her brow, she grinned, forgetting for a moment the sorrow that had permeated her trip to Tatooine, and quipped, "Tell that to Gralk. Jabba's not too sentimental to pay someone as young as me to deal with a Trandoshan pirate skimming spice off the top… and trust me, he's been dealt with".

The twi'lek chuckled, nervously this time, and soon the girl and her Weequay companion were alone, as much as one could be on the bustling streets of downtown Mos Eisley. They stood for a moment in silence, surrounded by the cacophony of venders calling out in the jawa trade language, the hum of passing speeders, and the drunken merriment of a myriad of beings stumbling out of cantinas.

Averting her eyes from those of the Weequay, she at last said, "We're not far from the spaceport. Do you want to go there now?"

"Do _you_, Weequay?" her companion asked pointedly, and now the pressure in her chest became unbearable. Sensing it, he continued, "It is not correct for a weequay to flinch when Quay calls us to perform his rites, however painful they are. Recall your last lesson from the holy books of Quay. It is written: _Quay's moonlight shines upon bloodshed and strife, sorrow and pain. Yet his followers fear not the challenges of the path, for they are illuminated by the greatest joy, and all suffering dissolves in the moonlight_".

"But – ", said the girl, but her words choked in her throat. Regaining composure, she met her companion's gaze, and said, "But my parents weren't weequays. My mother was zelosian, and I guess my father was a human. I don't _have _to do this, for Quay, it's just a personal thing".

"If you truly follow Quay, then your whole life is in devotion to him. There is no exception. And every weequay must perform rites of mourning for members of their clan. Quay demands it".

Closing her eyes for a moment, a rush of memories flooded the girl, but at length, these dissolved into the familiar, soft white light of a moon on a planet she had never seen. Gathering her courage, she said, "Ok, let's do this".

The pair began walking, weaving through the streets of the city, until soon they were no longer in its urban hub. Onward they trekked, enduring the afternoon swelter of the suns that beat down upon them, and as three quarters of an hour passed, they soon found themselves in Mos Eisley's suburbs. Though it had been half a decade since the girl had navigated the streets of the Tatooine town, her surroundings were soon interwoven with a deep familiarity, and the fabric of the neighborhood wound through her memory and evoked a feeling of being at home. They passed by a building, unremarkable to most passersby, its tan pourstone walls interchangeable with the tapestry of the homes and shops around it. It bore a sign which indicated that it was a hair salon. The girl stopped in front of it, and said, "This used to be called the _Tired Bantha_. It used to be a nightclub. My mother performed here a lot". The Weequay regarded the building for a moment, absorbing its character, and then quietly, the two moved along.

As they neared their destination, a new sensation moved through the girl. The heaviness was transmuted into reverence as she moved through her childhood neighborhood, and her sorrow blended with a gentle softness, not quite nostalgia, but a joy at what had once been. At last, they reached the gateway to the cemetery.

As they entered the graveyard, the Weequay's pheromonal signature shifted to one that his companion had not yet encountered. It smelled like the scent for sadness, but mingled with the sweet smell he gave off when he prayed to Quay – and yet there was another note, not quite of love, nor of endurance, but somewhere between.

"It's been a long time since I was here", the girl said. "Only once – I was small – but I think it's this way". Scouring the gravestones inscribed in a mixture of Basic and Huttese, she felt as though caught in a net in some great ocean, a fish whose natural migration with the currents was interrupted by a fisherman's incomprehensible hunger. At last, she reached her mother's grave.

It read:

_Gara Sard_

_Comedian, Mother, Friend_

_Voice of the Voiceless_

The heaviness returned to the girl's chest, and then continued to rise, up into her throat, and then to her eyes, which were soon streaming a cascade of grief.

"I was small – ", she cried. "She was my only friend – I never said goodbye".

"None are alone who share in the communion of Quay", said her companion. He paused, and then added, tenderly, "You are not alone. Let Quay heal your grief".

From a sheath on his boot, the Weequay drew a knife of black durasteel. Upon the blade were etched esoteric symbols, the meanings of which within the ancient mysteries of the Weequay religion were only partially clear to the girl. Taking the blade from her companion, she stumbled over the barrage of feelings that churned inside of her.

"A prayer for mourning", her companion reminded her.

She gathered her feelings, and at length, she spoke.

"May Quay heal my grief. My mother is dead. 5 years she has been dead. She died fighting for what she believed in – this honors Quay. Moonlight that never stops shining within your followers, take away my pain, and bless the spirit of my mother, where she rests in the shadow of your glow. I loved her – I love her. She was my clan. Please, Quay, bring me solace".

Without pausing to wipe the tears from her eyes, the girl made a quick motion with the ceremonial blade across the palm of her left hand, and let her green blood fall upon the grave.

"There is no force greater than Quay", she said.

"There is no force greater than Quay", repeated the Weequay, and then he rushed to support her as she crumpled under the intensity of the rite. He had already prepared gauze, and soon her hand was bandaged. Regaining her senses, the girl said, "Oh! I bought this", and withdrew the hubba gourd from her pouch.

"I remember that my mother told me that zelosians leave some sort of plant at the tombs of people they loved".

She started to move towards the grave, but the Weequay pressed the knife back into her hand.

"Make the markings of Quay", he said. "He will bless it, and sanctify your offering".

She paused. "I don't know, Crunchy", she said. "I'm not really a Weequay, and I don't know if I have the same right as you to take liberty with Quay's traditions".

"Do you follow Quay?" asked the Weequay.

"Yes, but – "

"Do you follow Quay, truly?" demanded the Weequay again.

The girl looked him in the eyes, and said, "Truly, I do".

"I know this to be true. You are a Weequay. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. The customs of Sriluur are meant to be adapted. This is Quay's law. We don't serve Sriluurian customs. We serve the god of Sriluur's moon".

"Ok", she said. Grasping the blade, she pierced the flesh of the melon lightly, and drew a circle, indicative of their god. Then she scrawled beneath it a string of holy names, her rendering of the traditional Sriluurian hieroglyphs sincere, if not wholly legible. At last she finished, and kneeled at the grave, and by the stone she placed the fruit. She lingered, wracking her memory for childhood lessons in her mother's native tongue, and then said in zelosian, "_Rest in peace, Mama_".

She took a step back from the grave. Her companion, in a rare displace of physical intimacy, placed his hand on her back. As they gazed upon the resting place of her mother, a soft light became visible in the graveyard. Like a fog it washed over the graves, cloaking them in a gentle, luminescent mist. Had anyone else been present, they might have given way to wonder and alarm, for such a light was alien to Tatooine, but to the two followers of Quay, their god's moonlight sealed the bonds of their devotion and engraved upon their memories forever the mark of the sacred ritual they had just performed.


End file.
